Skiftingklok
by Insomnia Isky
Summary: Toki was slumped in the shower, left there like an old discarded child's toy... AU. Scandinavian mythology. Child abuse. Dark view of religion. New chapter up. Reviews are appreciated.
1. Wind Child

Skiftingklok: Prologue

Many years ago on a windy moonless night over Norway…a baby's cry rang through the snow-covered mountains, originating through from a small isolated village near Lillehammer…

SQUAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-

Anja Wartooth stared down at the…whimpering thing in disgust…a hand shaped red mark blossomed across its cheek as it sniffled in pain. She made the sign of the cross before her as it let loose another cry. She trembled in fear, her fingers shaking. Ashamed at hitting…was this thing even a child?!

She had come down earlier to her and Aslaug's bedroom to tend to their newborn infant. There was nothing in the rickety cradle but a bundle of blankets. Blankets that moved and shifted. With trembling hands she threw the sheets back and found…this…this thing. The wind shrieked and a draft came in, the once-closed window, slamming open and the curtain fluttering like a dark phantom. Their baby nowhere to be found.

She had aged twenty years in that moment, her hair turned white.

Anja shrieked, a high keening wail. The thing joined her. Twin screams of fear and loneliness echoed together, intertwining.

The thing's icy eyes were scrunched in pain. Icy like the deepest circle of hell where the Father of Lies was entombed for all eternity or she hoped. Fat little legs wiggled about helplessly and a demon tail, tufted with filthy brown, hair thrashed about. Two horn nubs, another evil omen like the other deformities, poked out of a shaggy mat of brown hair. Twin floppy ears shook about.

Demon.

Abomination.

Huldrebarn.

Changeling.

Anja remembered a nearly forgotten story from her childhood as she watched the helpless…it. One wide pale eye watched the squalling abomination in fear through fingered bars.

Long ago, when the heathens of this land were converted to the one true religion, God walked among them. He strode to a simple cottage as the mother washed her children. Ashamed of the dirty ones, the peasant woman hid them from God, the one true Lord.

By God's decree, the hidden ones would be hidden from mankind. What is hidden from God, will be hidden from man.

Forever known as the Huldrer.

The Trolls.

Outside the wind screeched, and the window slammed again. Anja forced her hands over her ears and she curled up, its screams becoming louder. The wind's wailing nearly sounded like a human voice…

"_Take care of my child…I trust you holy onessss….._

Anja heaved, hyperventilating. A withered hand on her chest. Why had this happened? They were devout, people of faith. Why had God let their child be kidnapped? She dropped to her knees and prayed for insight and comfort, she hoped her husband would come home soon…her neighbor had rushed to town to tell him..

"_Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name."_

"_Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done…'_

The door creaked open. And the squalling became louder. In terror and panic, her hand flew.

"_On Earth as it is in Heaven…Give us this day our daily bread…"_

Another red mark arose on pale skin.

"_And forgive us our trespasses…as we forgive those…who trespass against us…"_

Anja shied away from the …thing…the huldrebarn.., dropping into the corner. It was still a child…nooo, it wasn't…was it?

"_And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…." _

Light spilled into the dim room. Aslaug had come home.

Anja got up on unsteady legs and rushed towards him and collapsed…embracing her husband. Sobbing. Her garments wet with tears. Whimpers rang in the background from…it.

The Reverend knew what must be done. Their own child had been taken away and replaced for a reason. This was God's plaan …Aslaug's brown eyes laid on the thing…they would get their child back. The old stories said in order to get a swapped child back…the replacement must be treated…harshly.

Then their infant son would be back, safe and sound.

Aslaug's leathery hands gripped his cross, a grim look on his face. Anja stared at him with wet eyes, desperate hope gleaming out of him. She made the sign of the cross and glimpsed back at the …it. Another wet heaving sob.

They embraced one another.

Yes, they would get their child back.

No matter what it took.

This was merely a test of faith, from God, their one true Lord.

A drawer creaked as it was pulled open and a steel blade flashed. The same blade used in the tail docking and ear cropping of the village dogs.

The wind screamed outside. A low drone of…

…_please don't do this to my baby…please don't…I beg of you…._

…but the meaning was lost to their ears.

Whimpers became glass-shattering shrieks.

Anja made the sign of the cross, saw a hint of red, closed her eyes.

It...sounded…just like…her son….

She turned away.


	2. Silence

Skiftingklok: Silence and Death Metal Screams (working title)

A silent boy is a good boy.

This was the first lesson that Toki Wartooth of Dethklok learned long ago.

Silence is holy. Silence honored God, the One True Lord. Just like his parents always reminded him with their wordless existence. His parents…Anja and Aslaug, …the neighbors whispered that there was no resemblance between parent and child…, were stark, stern, frigid.

They were pale as the dead, silent like the dead. Cloaked in robes of black shadow, melting into the umbra of the arctic night. Gliding, never walking. Holy ghosts of this icelocked land. They wanted their son to follow in their muffled footsteps.

Neighbors who visited would merely see these two ghostly phantoms and their silent child, two pairs of hollow eyes boring into you from the Reverend and his wife. Pained young eyes peeked out from beneath brown hair, smothered by the shadows. Nary a word from him while his parents loomed over him, never allowed out of their sight.

But…

Once. He spoke.

Wind howled outside, alone in that long ago black arctic night, begging to be let in.

Toki had looked out the window, a childish grin on his face, melting the fear from his abuse away. Anxiety faded away and joy glittered out of his eyes. Slowly healing, snipped ears dared to peak out of his brown hair, straining to hear the wind again. A tail nub wagged unseen beneath his clothing. His youthful animation became a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of his parents. Toki opened his mouth as he pointed at the window.

There was a word. Not squalls. Not shrieks. Not mindless baby talk. But a word. Learned from his neighbors, but this would be the first time his parents would hear. It slowly emerged from the child, like a whispered birth. The sound came out of him, like quiet ripples through a mountain stream when a pebble is dropped into the clear water.

"Mor…"

Mother.

Two pairs of eyes, wrapped in wrinkled ghostly linen, closed in prayer…snapped open. Bowed heads rose, necks creaking like an old rusty door hinge. The necks turned…their heads following…their dark head wrappings twisted as it did so. Their heads slowly lowering…the reverend and his wife locked dusty porcelain eyes with their child.

The word died. A misbegotten miscarriage. Never to be born again.

They scrutinized him as though a scientist would scrutinize a captured butterfly. As a scientist would quickly pinch the butterfly to kill it…they did the same with their stare.

Their eyes narrowed. Their hands still clasped together in prayer. Knees still bolted to the floor.

Little Toki became pinned. Pinned by their empty piercing gaze. A butterfly that was now a mere specimen. His wings flapped against the glass. One last time.

They inspected him, their eyes slowing going over him. Centimeter by centimeter.

.

The reverend and his wife didn't say anything. They didn't need to. Their eyes said it all.

How dare you. How dare you break this silence, this gift from God. How dare you show us your demon ears. Those ears we have cut so that you can enter heaven with us. How

_dare you._

At that moment, Toki knew, at his tender age, that he would never be a good boy.

His ears drooped back into his hair.

The wind screamed outside, a high keening wail, shattering the heavy tense silence between them and their wayward charge.

"…_oh…my child…" _

Anja and Aslaug snapped out of it and stared at the window. Their piercing gaze gone, the pins fell. Toki ran.

He rushed to the window, his small nub of a tail shaking unseen underneath his clothing. His ears, mockeries of a human's, pressed back against his head. They had picked up the mourned words of the wind. His tiny hands hugged the glass in fear and pressed against the window, he nuzzled it for comfort. The freezing surface of the window pane was his only reply.

Toki loved the wind. Every time it wailed, the silence broke. A remainder that the world was alive and untamed, refusing to bow to an unseen God. On dark, lonely nights…he would sit next to the window, wrapped in his thin blanket, listening to it keen and low. It would lash at the window as though it wanted to free him and play.

He learned about its moods. Angry shrieks. Low keening mournful wails. The soft content brush of a breeze. But it was never happy. Sometimes…the high pitched wails were like speech …like the hymns at church…but the wind was far more alive.

Toki liked that.

A raging screech rattled the window. Angry red skin on his wrists…shackle marks…pressed against the glass. His hug became clawed attempts at getting out.

The ghosts pressed down on him.

"…_I'm so sorry my child…you'll go through so much…at least your brother is safe…." _

Toki yelped. "Hjelp!"

The wind gave one last final scream and then died down to a wail…

"…_I can't…"_

An iron crucifix flashed above the window.

Toki dodged the shadowy arms. But one snatched his leg and dragged him down the black hallway.

The red silhouette of the heated twin blades of steel scissors glowed in the darkness.

The door closed.

Snip.

And then.

Silence.


	3. Reverse Masquerade

Skiftingklok: Reverse Masquerade

Twenty Years later...

"…ey? Nath'en…dood?"

"What."

"I think somethin's 'rong wit..Toki. 'Dood hasn't left his room in three days."

"Caring is not metal. Band policy is that we do not interfere or show interest with each other's personal life." Nathan growled at Pickles, but despite his aggression, something squirmed in the back of his mind. Toki hadn't been the same ever his father died, more and more bottles of alcohol have been disappearing from the Mordhaus stash. There had been a lull in Charles' recent return but ever since Skwisgaar came back from Sweden convinced of being a god, it had started up again.

"I kno' Nath'en. But havin' a missin' rhythm guitarist ain't metal either. And it's Toki,y'kno' dat. Kid's bin actin' weird ever since S'wisgaar cahme back."

The only response that Pickles got was Nathan grumbling, his hand massing his was NOT METAL, damnit. But a newborn larvae of memory wriggled in the backof his mind. A trio of images swung through his mind like an empty swing on the smiling as he scarfed down bowl after bowl of candy, flashing plaque-encrustedteeth at him. A nest of half-chewed candy bits on his tongue as he stuck it out slung on his shoulder as he descended down a teetering tower on an old rickety

ladder. In the background, flames devoured the carcass of Mordhaus like hellhounds tearing apart the flesh of a dying dragon. As Nathan slowly climbed down…the abyss yawned below with a gaping maw as their enemies swarmed around their fortress home like maggots.

Toki was slumped in the shower, left there like an old discarded child's toy, his band mates watching him with gleeful hyena eyes, their snide laughing barks veiling their concern. The shower, a gargoyle head, leered down as it vomited up cold water on Toki's twitching form. His limbs hanged off his body like an old Raggedy Ann doll. Blood trickled down his forehead, branching onto different crimson rivulets on his face, and then flowed down onto the shower tile. Water and blood swirled together; a morbid marriage of red and blue, the colors of domestic violence, dripped into the grated cavern of a moldy drain, as the meaty doll body of Toki watched on with half-lidded alcohol-glazed eyes.

Half-Eaten Meat Doll. Brutal Song Title.

Pupil-less eyes stared at him accusingly.

Metal.

'…dood…?

Pickles' voice cleaved through Nathan's silent brooding like a butcher slicing through meat.

"…Nath'en…? I kno' yoor thinkin' an' all, but shouldn' we be goin'?

"Oh…yeah. Toki. Right. Let's go."

On the other side of their soaring fortress home in the sky…

The rare silence of Mordhaus was broken by the roar of imaginary gunfire and the screams of the non-existent victims of hamburger time, high in the sky.

"SCHEW….Scheww…schew…schew…schew! Takes dat and yous takes dat! And yous too!

Schew! Whoooooosh!

Aaaaaaaaah! Scheeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwssssss.

I's ams deads.

SCHEW! Avenge mys hamburgers-time!"

Toki Wartooth of Dethklok, was flopped on his bed, six-pack belly bared to the world in playful submission, as his head hanged off the edge. He took a swig of vodka and then threw it into an ever growing heap of bottles on the other ride of the room. His red-rimmed eyes, joyfully watched the ceiling sky above.

Toy model planes, lovingly crafted and glued together by Toki's own hands, soared through the air. Propelled by the power of a scarred human arm, they dive bombed and loop-de-looped. Plastic wings were lofted high at an altitude of one point five meters, being steered into upside down flights.

Each little imaginary bullet, that screamed from the tiny aircraft, bore through the crimson walls. Non-existent holes pocketed the portraits. The image of a fluffy rabbit stared nervously at the scorch between its ears. A silhouette of bullet holes in his parents' portraits had nearly destroyed the abhorrent thing in Toki's mind.

In real life…the damn pictures were still intact. Toki still hadn't had the heart to lash the portraits to a slab of bloody meat and fling it to the howling yard wolves outside.

Kaboom! An imaginary nuke obliterated the pictures into a mushroom cloud of splinters. Little flakes of charred paper rained down on Toki's grinning slasher smile, etched into his face. All of this wasn't happening in the real world of course.

"Kapow! Da enemy bomber has strucks! Oh noes! My planes is goings downs! I'm gonnas hits hamburgers times again! Noooooooooooooooes, noooooot agains!"

It skidded onto the six-pack belly of the pilot of these tiny aircraft. Make-believe shrapnel flew everywhere, little microscopic iron thorns shot into the skin of the living runway and stayed there as metal barbs.

"GAAAAAAAH!!!!!!! FINALS HAMBURGERS TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEMS!!!!!!!!

He threw his plane onto the pillow and then drunkenly stumbled off the bed, for an epic finally to this plastic aerial dogfight. The door flew open.

"TOKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!! HAMBURGER TIME?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Nathan roared to the heavens. Pickles was right behind him, his crimson dreads flying everywhere.

"Dood…Toki?"

"GETS OUTS!!!!!!!" Toki screamed at them in mid-air, crashing to the carpet below. His foot landed on a spare whiskey bottle, it rolled, and then he slipped backwards towards the bottle heap. A sickening crack echoed throughout the room.

"that's gotta fuckin' hurt…ouch…Toki, yoor sure ar' drunk…haven' seen yoo like thi' in a while…" Pickles picked up one of the bottles that had rolled to his feet in the ensuing crash and drank from it. He walked over to help out his friend.

"I'ms oks…no needs to comes…owie… My butts hurts…"

Sprawled out on a throne of shattered glass and jagged shards, blood streamed out from Toki's back. It dripped from his back, and cascaded onto the devastated bottles. A red waterfall flowing down on translucent cragged rocks, brown hair pooled around Toki's bleeding head.

"Toki…that was really fuckin' BRUTAL. New song idea: Bloody Bottle Devastation. Oh yeah, your back. Uh yeah, let's help you up."

"…you twos...just stays away, ja?...I'm's fines…owie…"

"Dood…Toki…yer bleedin'…" Pickles got closer.

"OH FUCK…Nath'en…c'mere…look."

Pickles and Nathan took in the sight that was Toki and then looked at each other; a rare feeling of understanding had passed between them.

So this was the reason that Toki had been holed up in his room for the past several days. In the ensuing chaos of Toki crashing into the bottles, they hadn't noticed. At the very least, it would make a top-notch album cover, like their sewn-back-together-wrong chef.

"Hey, Toki…" Nathan began but was cut off.

"Nooooosss! Don't fuckin' looks at me! I looks likes a freaks…" Toki moaned in pain, shredded pieces of glass stuck out of his pink raw skin like craggy irregular spikes. He was crowned by two short horns that jutted out of his hair. Ragged ears, scarred by heated metal, flared back in fear. His short tail, tufted with hair, wormed through a labyrinth trap of broken alcohol bottles.

On his throne of shattered glass and crowned by two horns, bleeding little Toki was the blasphemous image of a fairy tale king.


End file.
